


Burnt

by Natasha_Barton



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Clintasha - Freeform, Death, F/M, Lies, Missions Gone Wrong, Strike Team Delta, get yourself a friend like Clint Barton, otp: a couple of master assassins, self-punishment, white lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 11:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Barton/pseuds/Natasha_Barton
Summary: Natasha's upset about a mission gone wrong and takes it out on herself





	Burnt

As soon as the Quinjet landed at the Avengers compound, Natasha headed for the gym, shoving past the EMTs waiting to patch them up. Clint had managed to pop her shoulder back into place after they’d escaped the fire, shortly before the explosion had thrown them several feet, sending them skidding across sharp gravel. She was sore and a bit singed, but she wasn’t about to wait for a doctor’s approval.

The gym was where she felt most at peace, one of the few places she could go in this godforsaken place to work off her pent-up anger. As a trained ballerina—_assassin,_ she reminded herself, not for the first time—physical prowess was her religion, and by god, was she devout. Her muscles protested as she ran, the treadmill’s incline amped up for resistance, speed set a notch higher than usual, but she pushed on, through the dull ache of her shoulder and the smoke still choking her lungs. It had been her fault, the fire. The senseless death. She’d been told otherwise, but no one else had been there. Just her and those screaming children, the candles lit too close to newspapered walls, an oxygen tank meant to help. She’d saved herself, the innate urge pushing her out the window without a second glance. _What kind of hero leaves behind defenseless children?_

It didn’t take long before she was gasping for breath, her knuckles white around the bars of the treadmill. She slowed to a stop, letting the machine deposit her on the floor, her legs collapsing beneath her. She felt betrayed by her own body and mind. If she had waited for Clint before moving in, she might’ve left the tank behind, down the hall, away from the victims. They could’ve saved at least some of the children, could’ve taken down their mark. But she was overly hasty, impatient, distrustful. She’d trusted him not to miss, and they’d both failed.

Having allowed a full minute of rest, she forced herself up and over to the sandbag, ignoring the burn of lactic acid accumulating in her muscles. She wrapped her knuckles tightly, a small act of kindness to herself, an attempt to reduce her chances of breaking bones. She swung hard, fueled by anger and adrenaline, fists solidly connecting with the stiff bag. Her form was sloppy, her legs too close together, but she pushed on through her self-punishment, trying to replace flashbacks with pain, just as she’d been taught.

It had to be fire, didn’t it? She had been too young when her parents died to have solid memories from before, but the suffocating heat never left her. She’d allowed herself to destroy everything in her path, to be filled with the same indiscriminate, all-consuming rage of a fire, but her actions frequently left her burned, scarred beyond recognition.

“Nat?” Clint’s voice, warm and rough, echoed through the gym.

“I’m busy,” she barked between punches.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He sprinted over to her and snagged her elbow as she drew back, disrupting her rhythm.

“Did you go blind in the fire?” she scowled. “I’m exercising.”

“We just got back from a mission where we almost _died_, and you’re a few swings away from putting yourself out of commission for a while.”

“I know my limits, Clint!” She shook his grip and turned back to the sandbag. “And everything would’ve been fine if you’d just done your fucking job.”

“Are you seriously mad at me for _saving your life? _If I’d ‘just done my fucking job,’ I’d be planning your goddamn funeral right now!”

“I don’t like the insinuation that you’ll outlive me.”

“If you keep doing stupid shit like this, _I will._”

She whirled around and swung. Clint caught her fist inches from his face, but he wasn’t prepared for the other that connected with his stomach. He doubled over, too weak to fight back, not that he’d wanted to.

“Then let me fucking kill myself in peace.”

“Over my dead body,” he growled, his breathing ragged.

“That can be arranged.” Natasha wrapped an arm around his neck, a move she’d pulled countless times on him, but her grip tighter than ever. Visibly annoyed, he managed to kick the back of her knee and dead drop, dragging her to the floor with him.

“Just fucking _talk_ to me, Nat. Please.”

They laid in silence, too sore to move, while he waited for her to say something, _anything_, even if it was just to tell him to fuck off. He knew this mission had been particularly difficult for her, but he’d watched her cycle of self-destruction spiral out of control before; it needed to be stopped before anyone else got hurt.

“It was my fucking fault,” she finally whispered, her voice breaking. “The fire, abandoning the kids, all of it.”

“You couldn’t have known about the candles or lined walls. We were never going to able to save them.”

“I was _there_, I should’ve taken them with me, I should’ve done something!”

“That’s right, you were _there_, missing everything happening outside. Nat,” he sighed, “the target was behind the house, can of gasoline and lighter in hand. Everything was going up in flames regardless of our actions, and, if I had taken the shot, you would’ve burned with it.” He was amazed how easily the lie rolled off his tongue, as he was unaccustomed to not being brutally honest with her. Under normal circumstances, it was as if she could detect any sort of mistruth, even the slightest bits of unintentional deception, so attempts at lying just led to more arguments and distrust. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be worth it to risk their friendship, but he could feel her shutting herself away, rebuilding the fortified wall she kept around her heart, the one he’d spent years trying to get through. As soon as he left that gym, he’d ensure every single report corroborated his story, despite him never having laid eyes on the target before abandoning the mission to pull her out, to get her to safety.

“You better not be fucking lying to me, Barton, or I’ll have to remind you of my skillset,” she hissed, although her heart wasn’t in it. She was exhausted, tired of beating herself up at the smallest provocation, finally ready to accept an olive branch from her best friend. She was still an all-consuming fire, but she was done getting burned.


End file.
